Being a Tool Time Gurl in the House of Utter Chaos

I'm not afraid to work on stuff around the house. Hubby used to say that he fell in love with me because, shortly after we first met, I showed him how to put brake pads on his car. (We actually drove the exact same make and model of car when we met.) I used to change my oil and filters, and all that rot, all the time. No biggie.

Of course, now the hubby thumps his chest and declares his manliness by doing it for me, but I'm not complaining.

It should be no surprise to anyone that I fixed the refrigerator today. We had the same problem a few months ago. Water was leaking under the drawers at the bottom, and it kept freezing. When it first happened, I of course went to my good friend Mr Google, figured it out, and showed my boys how to do it. It involves a frozen drain, and you have to dump enough hot water down the little tube to unthaw it. No problem.

I went to Michigan this summer, and the same thing was going on at my mom and dad's house. They are still in awe that their darling baby fixed the fridge.

When the problem reoccurred today, it should've been a snap. Except no -- nothing about today was a snap. Did shipping -- it took ALL morning, and it's still not done, because some stuff is here, some's at the rental space, and some.........well, let's just say that there were some bad words involved.

Went grocery shopping with the ds12, to the tune of $300. Yep, $300. I haven't done THAT in a long time, but the cupboards were bare. It wasn't till that $300 in groceries was put away that I realized that the fridge was outta whack, so we had to unload said groceries, strip the fridge down, and get 'er done. Of course, I'm standing ankle deep in water when the car shop calls, asking why I didn't bring my car in today (had a car accident last week, but that's yet another story). Hubby called not once, but twice, mostly just to chat about our holiday plans.

By the time I was done, it was like the Great Flood in the kitchen, and water was everywhere. Kinda reminded me of the night dd put Dawn in the dishwasher. (That's definitely another story.) It took me about two hours to get everything back to where it was, and brown some hamburger for dinner -- because ds17 informed me that he wanted "man meat" for dinner, and "man meat" means beef. ::sigh:: By the time hubby got home, I had the look of an assassin in my eye, I'm sure.

He ordered Chinese takeout.

OYE. Just another day of Utter Chaos.

Secret Santa and the Jill House Rocks!

The VCA board on ebay used to have a wonderful Secret Santa exchange. This particular year, my vintie dd decided that she wanted to join in. We've had fun shopping for our SS's, with the fact that we too will receive presents in the back of our heads. I know who got her name, and it's so much fun to watch it happen. SS told me that she was mailing the first package to the dd on Friday, so I knew it'd be here soon.

Here's the way it evolved:

DD: “Mail’s here. Looks like junk.”
Mother: “Any packages?”
DD: I didn’t hear him leave any.
Mom: That doesn’t mean he didn’t leave any.

Mother, always knowing best, saunters out to the porch whilst dd heads upstairs to rock it with more AC/DC, Foreigner, and any other assorted number of bands that her mother listened to in hs. Mother finds package on chair on porch, just as she had suspected.

Mother wanders to stairs and calls up to dd – “Hey, I thought there weren’t any packages.” DD sticks head over railing and says “oh, sorry, I didn’t hear him leave it.” Starts to walk away until mother quietly says “it’s for you. ” “I’m not expecting anything.” Mother responds two little words: “Secret Santa.”

::sound of dd crashing down the stairs at lightspeed::

::dd looks at package with glee::

::sound of package being shaken by the dd::

DD, calmer now, trying to show the maturity that comes with her almost 16 years: “Shes from Florida. Do you know who it is? I guess I should to wait till Christmas to open it?” This is said as a question, not a statement.

Mother: “I don’t think you have to…..”
DD: “Then I’m opening it” DD is already halfway to the kitchen, searching for a knife.

::sound of tape ripping and box opening::


DD: Oh wow, she got me more than one present. Oh wow, look at this! I got a card. Look how cute it is. Look at all of these packages. Oh, this is FUN! Who is it?

Mother: Maybe you should open the card first.

::sound of card opening::

DD: She wrote me a poem. Isn’t this card cute? I’m gonna open the presents. Oh look at this little bag I love it and it matches the polka dot paper do you think she meant to do that and OMG I love the blue nail polish OMG the green is my *favorite* color and it matches my room and look at the orange and the purple and OH this is FUN.

::mother takes breath for dd::
::sound of paper ripping::

DD: Look how cute this purse is. I love it. It’s so cute.

::mother reaches for purse and dd takes it back, not so gently reminding mom that the purse is hers::

DD: Do you think she made this little drawstring bag herself.
Mother: I don’t know, is it a sachet?
DD: I don’t know what a sachet is, but I’m keeping that little bag because it’s so cute.
Mother: Well, you’d better open that bag because it feels like there’s something in there.

DD: Oh WOW, I love this bracelet! I’ve never found one like this. And it’s purple. I love it.

::slips bracelet onto her wrist::

DD: This is so fun.

::sound of paper ripping::

DD: Look at this Humane Society shirt. I love it. I’m going to put it on right after I do my nails I love my Secret who is it when will she tell me do I know her how did she know how much I love all this? My Secret Santa ROCKS.

::deep breath by mother::

DD: Maybe next time I should open the card last (finally realizes that the poem SS wrote for her revealed what the gifts were).

::wanders off to paint nails a lovely shade of lime green::

She's right. Secret Santa rocks.

Drivin' me crazy.

We're heading up to my parents' house today, when I get off work. Over the river and through the woods, you know. We'll do Thanksgiving tomorrow. Yesterday, we had leftovers for lunch, and the little family had soup for dinner whilst I was at work. Thanksgiving is like that sometimes.

Usually, on the day after Thanksgiving, the dh heads out to Christmas shop with our bratty girl. They get up about 4:30, and are on the move by 5, shopping for a few hours, then stopping for breakfast before Round 2. Apparently the brat didn't want to go this year -- which disappointed her dad a bit -- so they are just packing up to leave for Michigan as soon as I get off work.

They aren't bad car travellers, for the most part. DS17 just leans back and conks out with his iPod on. Worst thing about that is the shaking of the car as he snores, but hey, we all have our issues. DD will be asking if we're there yet by the time we get out of the driveway, and ds12 won't be far behind. But it all works out better since we got the van with the DVD player. Hubby will even stay awake for part of the trip if the movie's good. We've watched everything in there -- Lord of the Rings, Pirates of the Caribbean, Moulin Rouge, Singing in the Rain, reruns of In Living Color.....you name it. It helps the car travelling tremendously.

That's why, when people ask me if I've seen such and such a movie, my usual response is that I've heard it five or six times, but never seen it -- cause I'm usually driving. I bet I'd heard The Others at least a dozen times before I actually saw it. Same thing with Fellowship of the Ring -- heard it, didn't see it. Then my brother informed me that I couldn't see The Two Towers unless I'd seen FotR first -- hearing it didn't do it justice. There are some movies that I still haven't seen to this day -- but I've heard more than once. I'm almost always the driver and, quite frankly, I don't like the dh driving when the DVDs are on, cause he tries to watch AND drive. Homey don't play dat. I want to live to get to my destination.

DD suggested that when we go to Michigan, we drive that behemoth of an RV that remains parked in our driveway. I envisioned that as something straight out of Vacation -- without the dead dog dragging behind. I told her no way, and her father wouldn't even respond -- he's still in mourning over all the trouble he went to, just to watch the Broncos lose. I told him that he brought bad karma to "his people" because he was watching the game in an RV all decked out with Colts decor. He just glared at me.

No eye candy today, because I am at work, dealing with the crazies, so I can't post a pic. More fun and games when I get back home again, in Indiana.

What is that behemoth doing in my driveway?

Hubby bought an old Town Car a few weeks ago. A 1990 Town Car. It's a beautiful car -- cherry red, and in mint condition. It was owned by an older gent who cared for it well. Hubby loves it.

But it's an aircraft carrier. I hate driving huge cars. I always have to test drive tons of cars before we buy one for me, so I get one I like. This one is HUGE, and thank God, it's not for me to drive. It fits into the garage with 1/2 inch of clearance, so I thought we had the biggest vehicle we could get into our driveway.

That was before someone pulled in tonight with an RV.

Hubby has been very crabby lately, because the NFL Network is showing the Broncos game on Thanksgiving night. Problem? We don't GET the NFL Network. He was ready to get rid of cable and get a dish -- and I'm not sure he still isn't going to. He even asked all of our friends if THEY get NFL network, so he could come over and watch the game. On Thanksgiving night.

Yeah, he's nuts. Especially about his Broncos.

But then he found out that a friend from church has an RV with satellite TV. Said friend said sure, he'd come and park it in the driveway, so hubby can watch the game in it. That's how we ended up with a behemoth in our driveway. It is so tightly packed in there that they a) couldn't pull it all the way to the back and b) can't get the door all the way open to get in and out.

But the hubby is happy as a clam, and the kids are sleeping in it. Never mind that it's the RV that our friend takes to the Colts games, so he can tailgate. Never mind the Colts decor. He is going to watch the BRONCOS on the NFL NETWORK, baby. ::sigh:: I'll be at work, so he can do what he wants.

God Save Me, I'm the Queen

Husbands and wives tend to have pet names for one another. Sometimes it's dear, or darling, or, in my dad's case, he calls my mom Babe.

Hubby calls me queen.

In the house, at restaurants, and even once, in Target, when he was just being him -- bellowing "QUEEN!" down every aisle, just to see if he could embarrass me. OYE.

A lot of people might think that this has something to do with respect, but it really has nothing to do with that at all. It has to do with a gay guy in Florida, who had a wild crush on my husband, before we got married.

His name was Vince, or Emmanuelle, depending upon what nametag he wore at work. Hubby was a McDonald's manager, and Vince was one of the crew people. I knew that he had a crush on him, and just verified it when I went to pick up the then boyfriend from work. He was talking to the crew, and when he was done, he went back to the office to get something. Vince was the one who stared longingly at him as he walked away.

Yep, he was checkin' him out.

Vince once told him "baby, if you would just let me dress you up and do your hair, we could go out and you could be my queen." Hubby informed him thanks, but he already had his queen, and her name was not Vince. Or Emmanuel. I think it almost killed poor Vince.

Vince actually danced for him at our going away party. We had decided to move to Orlando, and his crew had a little get together for us. Vince was the one who danced to Prince's "Raspberry Beret", whilst stripping down to his red bikini underwear. We died laughing.

So yes, that's how I became the Queen. God save me, that's how our life goes.

.

At the sound of the bell................

Most of you know that I am a nurse. I don't work in the trenches anymore; I work in a call center, answering calls for people who call hospitals and doctors' offices when they are closed. They call with questions, day and night. We never know what is going to happen when the phone rings, or the pager goes off.

But tonight was a doozy. Here's a little sampling:

"I have a few questions about oral sex. I was sitting here, thinking about foreplay and about receiving oral sex and wondered, can you get any STD from receiving oral sex?"

Guess she doesn't watch Monday Night Football.

"Oh, really? Well, maybe I shouldn't let anyone do that to me."

"How can you prevent getting an STD during foreplay or oral sex?"

"Oh, I don't think I should let him do that anymore."

"Oh, and one more question: a friend told me that if you are receiving oral sex, and a man blows into you (NOTE: apparently this does NOT apply to lesbians) that you can get something, is that true?"

"Oh, well, maybe I just shouldn't let him do THAT either."

Ma'am, the next sound you'll hear is the sound of the "you're too dumb to have sex" alarm. EVER. EVER.

ding ding ding

Kinda along the same vein as the call I had a couple of weeks ago, saying "he just gave me oral sex (NOTE: she used a much more crass term) and now my lip is all blown up and swollen." Mind you, this is NOT the lip she kisses her mother with. I go through all of the usual questions: how long ago ("about three minutes"), are you in pain ("hell, yes"), any chance that you're pregnant (let's hope not). When I told her I thought she would live to ahem, love again, she practically yelled "but what am I gonna do about this swollen up lip?"

ding ding ding

I mentioned it to my dearly beloved, and he said I should've told her to get with a vegetarian the next time.

Yet another one:

Page reads: "dead baby in tube". Test tube? Fallopian tube? Pneumatic tube? Sometimes you just don't want to know.

Caller:

"I went to the doctor because I have this pain on the right lower side. They said I had an infection, and gave me antibiotics, but they didn't say anything about that maybe I have a dead baby in my tube."

"Oh, I had a tubal ligation a year ago, and now I am itching like crazy, and tearing my skin up till I bleed, and no one has said that maybe it's from a baby in my tube."

"And I have constant pain that only is there when I move a certain way, but the itching has me all broken out in sores, and I can't stop scratching."

"I don't have any sores, but I can't sleep and I need to make an appt to talk to the doctor about getting this tubal ligation reversed. I don't want any more kids, but I have to stop this itching, and if it means that I have to have the tubal reversed, then I will. If I get that tubal reversed, will that dead baby just pass, or what?"


Oh. MY. GOD.

DING DING DING DING DING DING

This coming after the first call of the shift, when a mom said her kid was in the office today, had a shot of antibiotics, because "he's not good with medicines", and he's not any better now. Well, of course not, cause it takes antibiotics a while to kick in. But Mom wants the doc paged. Doc isn't on call. Doc on call doesn't know her child from Adam, but Mom wants to talk to the doctor. NOW.

No, he's not in pain. No, I'm not concerned about dehydration. No, he's not running a fever. "Ma'am, why is it that you need to talk to the doctor?"

"Because his body is eating all of his fat up." Now, the nurse asks, very gently (as the mother was irate before the first word exchanged): "How do you know his body is eating all the fat up?"

"Because (insert, you stupid b*tch nurse who obviously knows nothing), I can smell it on his breath."

Alrighty then.

I'll tell you one thing: if you can smell fat on someone's breath, I smell like Three Musketeers.

Are they vegetarians?

The not so jolly Gentle Giant

Well, I will say, after this entry, I don't think I'm going to blog about squirrels. Don't quote me on that, though, cause nothing is permanent at our house. Except laundry. And dirty dishes. And cleaning the bathroom. Ok, so you get my drift.

The other night, just after I had blogged about the squirrels, we had a trauma here. Jill let our dog, a sweet almost nine year old German Shepherd mix, out to do his business. My MIL calls him the gentle giant, and he's a big baby. Well, my big ole baby dog shot out the door like his butt was on fire, and went tearing down the driveway. Jill thought someone was out front with a strange dog, so she ran after him. (You have to see our yard to understand why we can't fence the whole thing in.)

When Jill arrived in the front, my sweet Timmy dawg had a squirrel in his clutches. A big, fat, screaming for his very life, squirrel. DD (the vegetarian, remember) starting screaming at the dog, almost as loudly as the squirrel himself was yelling, whilst the dog is going nuts. Dog finally turns tail into the backyard, squirrel in mouth, with dd chasing after him. She finally got him to drop it, and drug the dog into the house, screaming the whole way.

She tore into the living room where I was, pleading that I need to take the squirrel to the vet. Now remember, I am a triage nurse. I talk to people all night, and have gotten a fair share of calls about interactions with wildlife that did not go well. NO WAY I'm gonna touch that squirrel and get bitten, or scratched, or whatever. So of course, then I was the bad guy, because I wasn't helping out the hysterical dd. "Are you just gonna let it die," shouts the dd, with the most enraged look I've seen out of her in a while. And she's 15, so I have seen rage in her eye. ::sigh:: Yep, the dog eats the squirrel, and MOM is the bad guy. That's my life.

So she starts yelling about how the hubby is gonna go out and pop it on the head with a hammer to finish it off, and how we need to take it to the vet. Hubby is running around, looking through the toolbox under the bed (MY toolbox, mind you. The one he said I never needed, cause why would a woman need a toolbox. Well, it wasn't exactly there so I could clobber a squirrel, I'll tell you that.) Whilst Jill is screaming and hubby is rifling the toolbox, Thomas was standing there, laughing like a hyena about how our sweet dog nailed the squirrel.

And into the midst of all of this wanders the totally clueless Seth saying "I thought we were going out to eat." Yes, he is blonde.

And there I sat on the couch, mouth hanging open, wondering why in the world anyone would call our house anything but Utter Chaos.

Five minutes later, hubby found the hammer, and went outside, only to find that the squirrel had already gone on to its eternal reward. Half an hour later we were sitting in Damon's ordering dinner. With appetizer AND dessert. ::sigh::

And the dog still wonders what in the world all the hubbub was about.

So, the answer to "why did the squirrel cross the road," the answer: to get away from the dude with the hammer.